


A Tilting Scale

by athena_crikey



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 11:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, Daryl is the only one who can make Merle go. But they aren't a family to be moved by words, or threats, or violence. At least, not to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tilting Scale

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 3.10. Merle being featured, there is offensive language.

“He can’t stay, Daryl,” says Carol, watching from the top of the stairs as Merle pulls a slightly cleaner mattress into the cell he’s chosen. Perched on the edge of the table beside her, Daryl doesn’t look up from the shirt he’s stitching up in crooked, scarecrow lines. 

She’s the only one who can have this talk with him. After the return from Woodbury, Maggie and Glenn are too afraid to scare him off, too afraid he’ll leave again if they throw down an ultimatum, and with the Governor coming after them they can’t risk that. They’ve already lost Michonne, too unreliable and independent to remain with the group. Rick and Carl are too caught up in their own solitary worlds right now, and Beth and Hershel don’t know Merle. Don’t know what he is, what he’ll always be. 

Carol knows.

“We need some measure of safety, we need to be able to trust our group – especially now with more than just walkers out there. We can’t be watching for an attack from all sides – we just can’t.” Six months ago, her voice would have wavered, cracked. The winter rid her of that weakness, froze it as it enshrouded her and then shattered it like ice to be left behind on the roadside. There is only numb certainty in her tone; it’s much more damning.

Daryl frowns, pulling too hard on the thread so that the thin fabric bunches up in tiny ridges. “Merle ain’t gonna attack anyone.”

She purses her lips. “He beat T-Dog so badly he couldn’t stand, for nothing but the colour of his skin. How can we trust a man like that?”

Daryl’s head shoots up, eyes narrow. “That was different.”

Carol doesn’t back down. She will stand her ground now, here, for this group. Stand her ground like she never did before, for herself or her daughter. That’s the strength this world has given her, and if she hates that she’s grateful for it, well, there’s strength in hatred too.

“How? It was a long time ago? Men – people like that don’t change. He didn’t know T-Dog? He doesn’t know us, either. We’ve got young women and children here, Daryl. People who can’t protect themselves, not from strength and malice. Don’t pretend being able to deal with walkers is anything like being able to deal with – with the living.”

Maybe he understands her argument, or maybe he just sees the light in her eyes, but either way he pulls back. Eases his shoulders, and lets his eyes soften. “Look, if he tries anything –”

“When. You know it will be when – he’ll push someone too hard, or he’ll get angry, or maybe he’ll just get bored. You _know_ that. Letting him stay here, that’s no better than me keeping my daughter with a man I knew beat her. I’m not saying it’s right to keep yourself in harm’s way, but that’s your choice. But letting him stay here, that’s putting everyone in harm’s way.” She lays a gentle hand on his arm; he shrugs it off. “I don’t want to ask you, Daryl. I know what it’s like, not being able to break away. I _know_. But no one else will speak up.”

He stands, anchoring the needle in his shirt and tossing it onto the pile of his clothes beside the stairs. “’Preciate your honesty.” He jogs down the stairs, glances at Merle without speaking, and walks on out towards the yard.

  
***

Merle wears a mask of polite, decent behaviour, but it hangs crookedly on his leering face. When Daryl’s not around, it occasionally slips off altogether. The smug comments and dirty looks sneak by like knives, bypassing the notice of most of the group to slice silently into their targets. Then come the insults and the insinuations, lewd and malicious but not actually aggressive. Then the posturing, strutting and throwing weight around in front of Rick and Glenn, passing or standing too close to the women.

Carol’s seen it all before, the gradual creep from false repentance to impatience to offence. It used to be the cycle of her life, although after a while Ed stopped bothering with the first step. The others may not be as familiar with it as she is, but they don’t need to be to; Merle’s a time bomb, and they all know it. Almost everyone has started carrying their handguns with them in the cellblock; in cold imperial pounds the weight isn’t much, but constant fear is heavy enough to grind down bones. 

Daryl is one of the few who isn’t. Carol knows it isn’t because he has nothing to fear from Merle, but because he doesn’t want to believe – refuses to believe – that any of them do.

  
***

It would be easier, maybe, if Merle was oblivious to the hatred he’s elicited from the group. Of how much almost all of them wish he was gone, if not dead. But he’s absolutely aware of it, and being a contrary bastard it just fuels his desire to stay.

“Don’t think I don’t see y’all glaring at me,” he tells them over a dinner of powdered eggs, while Daryl and Rick are outside on guard duty. “All them ugly looks, all those curses rolling off your pretty lips.” He licks his at Maggie and Beth; Glenn shifts towards him, and then back again when Merle shoots him a daring glance. “Oh ho, ol’ Merle knows. Y’all are pathetic – you know that? You don’t hate me for my winning personality; you hate me ‘cause you know without me, you’re nothing. You don’t got the men or the muscle to stand up to the Gov’nor, so you’ve gotta sit here and eat humble pie to a man you left for dead. So glare all you want; I ain’t leaving this cozy little den. And ain’t no way y’all’ll make me.” He spears a big forkful of eggs and steers them into his mouth, grinning as he chews. Maggie and Glenn march away in disgust. The rest of them follow shortly, leaving Merle alone eating the remains of everyone’s dinners. 

“You’ve got to talk to Daryl again,” says Hershel to her in the far corner, the two of them watching Merle. “Get him to rein his brother in.”

“There isn’t any reining him in,” says Carol, grimly.

  
***

“He ain’t hurting no one,” says Daryl, whittling an arrow while she changes Judith’s diaper.

“Not with his fists. With his words? He’s cutting us all to pieces, and we can’t fight back. And we shouldn’t have to. This is our home, Daryl, we’re supposed to be safe here.” She shakes Judith’s little fist as it waves in the air, but doesn’t smile when the baby gurgles at her. 

“Maybe some folks just need to grow a thicker skin. Merle’s right – we need him. We ain’t got the muscle to handle an attack from the living. Right now only me and Merle and Rick’re up to fighting trained men, and Rick’s checked out half the damn time.”

Finished with the diaper, she lifts the baby and dandles her on her knee. “We’ll manage somehow,” she says, flatly.

Daryl looks up from under his brows, face dark. “You’d rather live easy now and die quicker later?”

“If we’re going to be in danger every minute of every day, why don’t we just leave here? Safety is the only reason we came here in the first place – if we don’t have it, it’s not worth it fighting for the prison.”

Daryl slices off a deep chunk of his arrow in exasperation, and throws down the useless stick. “Damn, woman, I’m telling you, Merle ain’t dangerous.”

Carol puts Judith down carefully in her bassinette, then turns to Daryl, eyes hard. “And I’m telling you, you’re wrong. You’re wrong, Daryl, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I’m proved right.” She steps forward to stand over him, puts a hand on each of his shoulders and leans down to speak quietly. “Please, Daryl. He hasn’t changed. He’s riling everyone up. He _wants_ to start something, because he knows we can’t fight back. He _likes_ watching us hurt.”

“You’re wrong,” he says, but conviction is lacking from his tone.

“Am I? I’ll tell you what’s worse. Merle thinks Merle is the only necessary member of this group. When he gets bored of taunting us, what do you think he’ll turn to next?”

“Enough.” He stands, breaking free of her light touch and walking towards the stairs glaring back at her. “Enough trying to turn me against him. He’s my brother, my blood.”

“You’re family to us, too. You’re like a father to Carl and Judith, like a brother to Maggie and Glenn, and you’re someone – someone precious to me.”

“Family ain’t a scale; you don’t weigh one side against the other,” snarls Daryl, and pounds down the stairs.

Carol watches him go with her fingers wrapped white around the metal bannister, and knows they both know that all too often, you have to.

  
***

In the end, it isn’t anything significant, isn’t a fundamental clash of views or a power struggle. It’s just some small, stupid thing that shatters everything. Merle makes some comment to Beth as she picks up the dirty dinner dishes; Carol, already halfway to the washing area, doesn’t even hear it.

What she does hear is Maggie’s sharp retort, “Don’t you talk to her like that.”

Carol turns back to see Merle standing beside Beth, awkwardly trying to shy away with her arms full of dishes. It’s just them and Carl, everyone else still working or on watch. 

“I’ll talk to her any way I like, sweet cheeks. This here’s my home. A man’s gotta appreciate his home, ain’t that right?” He reaches out to stroke Beth’s cheek, smiling lasciviously. And everything blows up in their faces.

Beth shrieks and tries to pull away; Carl shouts something, and is batted away by Merle’s stump; Maggie draws her gun and squares her stance. And Merle grabs Beth by the shoulder, spinning her around to act as a shield in front of him. He pins her in place with his stump across her collar bones, and whips a pistol out of his belt to point at her temple so quick it seems like it was always in his hand.

Only then does everything slow, action in the room stopping so suddenly it seems for an instant that the space is empty. But Merle’s already grinning, over-confident and somehow larger than life, the centre of everyone’s attention.

“Now then. Maybe y’all’d like to reconsider.”

Beside them Carl pulls his own gun, backing up to get out of the range of Merle’s arm. Carol freezes beside Maggie, her outreached hand an inch from resting on Maggie’s. “Maggie, don’t –”

Maggie ignores her completely, shoulders high and tense as she keeps the gun leveled on Merle. “You let her go, Merle. Get your dirty hands off of her.”

“I don’t see no hands on her,” leers back Merle, leaning down to breathe hotly in Beth’s ear so that she squirms, whimpering. “But it could be arranged. Unless you and the boy drop them guns.”

“That’s not happening.” Maggie takes a step forwards, her face white with rage. A bead of sweat is trickling down her temple; her hands are trembling. “You. Let. Her. Go.”

“So you can get a perfect shot? It’d be a good excuse, wouldn’t it? Payback for your slant-eyed fucktoy disguised as saving your little sis? No one could blame you for that, now could they?”

Maggie begins to take another step forwards, lips drawn back to show her clenched teeth, and Carol grabs her shoulder. “Maggie, calm down.”

Merle shakes his head, still grinning. “Uh uh uh. I told you, this is ol’ Merle’s home, now. Ain’t you prying me outta here. We all’re gonna learn to get along real good. Ain’t that right, sugar?” He leans down to peck Beth’s temple, without breaking eye contact with Maggie. 

Carol’s watching Beth, trying to project calm and security while her spine fuses into one solid iron bar. So she sees the reaction first there first, although a moment later it’s mirrored in Merle’s face. Only then does she hear the footsteps behind her.

“Merle. The hell’re you doing?”

Carol turns but Daryl’s already striding by her into the cellblock, his hair dripping wet and his skin looking slightly scrubbed. Merle straightens slightly, but otherwise doesn’t change his posture or attitude. 

“Hey there little bro. You could tell that bitch to take her gun off me, if you felt up to it,” drawls Merle, with overacted solicitousness.

“Let her go,” snarls Maggie, gun rattling in her grip. Daryl stops just past her, staring.

“Yeah, let her go,” echoes Carl, speaking for the first time. His voice is thin and shaking, skin pale under his over-large hat. Merle doesn’t spare him a glance.

“Y’all put down your guns, then we’ll have something to talk about.” 

Carol can see the indifference in his eyes, his face, his posture. He doesn’t give a damn if they do or not. He doesn’t give a damn about shooting Beth, about making her sister watch her die. He might even enjoy it.

“Daryl,” she whispers, tersely. _Remember what we talked about_ , she wants to say, or _See this for what it is_ , or even just _Do something._

Maybe her voice spurs him, or maybe he’s already decided his course, but either way Daryl turns at the sound of her voice. He walks over to the old table where their weapons and ammunition are carefully piled, and picks up the old revolver he brought out of a bloody tent a year ago instead of Sophia. He turns so they can all see him, flicks the cylinder open, and tips the bullets out into his hand. Four he puts down on the table. The fifth he loads into a chamber, movements slow and deliberate. 

“You think you can shoot me, lil’ brother? Your own flesh and blood?” There’s still a leering there, but there’s caution in Merle’s eyes, now. Watchfulness. “More importantly, you think you can shoot me before I cap this little bitch?”

Daryl doesn’t speak. Wordlessly, he sets the revolver’s cylinder spinning with a knock of his hand, so fast it whines like a cicada. Without looking, he snaps it shut.

Then he raises the barrel to his head.

Carol’s throat closes right up like there’s a noose around it, so tight it hurts to breathe. Even if she could, she can’t find her words, can’t find a single one. All around her the room is frozen in shock so thick it’s crushing. Eventually it’s Daryl who has to break the silence, his voice rough. 

“You put down that gun, and let her go, Merle. Then you leave here, and don’t come back.” There’s no waver in his voice or his hand. He’s steady and cold as stone, unblinking and unmoving as he stares down Merle.

“Daryl, hey, what’cha doing man? Think about what you’re saying. Y’all need me here. Need me a hell of a lot more than you need this little –”

“You put down that gun, let her go, and leave, Merle,” repeats Daryl, in the same flat tone. Merle begins to bridle, the shock on his face shifting to anger.

“The hell’re you saying? You begged me to come, damn near got down on your knees and grovelled like a dog – now you’re throwing me out? Well, too bad little bro. This place is mine, these walls, this food, these bitches – ”

Daryl steps closer, hand shaking now. Carol wraps her own hand over her mouth, but there’s no sound to smother. Her eyes are pricking, sharp and painful.

“I thought you could change! I thought you cared enough about me – about your own damn brother – to _make an effort._ ” All of the sudden he’s shouting, back bent and face red with the intensity of his rage. But it blows by quick as a cloudburst, disappears into cold disgust. “Turns out I was wrong. So you put down that gun, let Beth go, and get the hell out of here. Now.”

Merle’s face twists, ugly and furious. “Or what? You’ll blow your brains out? How’s that gonna help her? How’s that gonna help anyone, Darlena?”

Carol can see the muscles in Daryl’s jaw moving, see him gritting his teeth. He has to spit his words to get them out, sharp, cracking syllables.

“It won’t. But my life’s all our shitty family gave me; it’s all we care about. Ain’t that right? We’re fine beating the crap outta each other, so long as we’re both still breathing at the end. Words, bruises, scars, they don’t mean a damn thing, do they Merle? This’s all I got to ask you with.” He cocks the gun with his thumb, the click louder than a shot in the cellblock.

“Don’t you do this, Daryl, don’t you fucking dare hold me hostage to your goddamn _sentimentality_. I ain’t going back out there. No way. I –”

Daryl closes his eyes as he pulls the trigger; the sound of it clicking over the empty chamber slices right into Carol’s heart. She lets out the beginning of a scream through her hands before she can smother it; her tears overflow to run down her cheeks. Carl stumbles back and almost falls, eyes huge. Maggie and Beth are almost mirror-images of one another, suddenly so clearly blood, both shocked and shaking.

“You fucking stupid bastard. You arrogant, self-righteous sonofabitch,” snarls Merle, face very white. 

Daryl cocks the gun again. His hand is shaking now and there’s a tremor in his voice but he doesn’t move from his place. “Four more shots. You wanna go all the way, Merle? 

“You’re crazy, just right fucking insane. You’ve got walkers out there, and the Gov’nor and his men, and you want to throw your best fighter out?” demands Merle, half-incredulous and half-desperate. 

“Put down the gun. Let Beth go. Leave.”

“Daryl – little bro, I –”

Daryl closes his eyes again, finger tightening on the trigger, and Merle jumps back. Lets Beth go and drops his gun; it clatters on the cement floor. “Okay! Okay! You win! Just stop. Just – stop,” he whispers, falling back against the cellblock wall. 

Maggie darts in and grabs Beth, pulling her back and away while keeping her gun trained on Merle. For a minute they all stand there, waiting uncertainly until Daryl unfreezes. 

He moves slowly and stiffly, like a clockwork toy on the end of its spring. He tosses the revolver onto the table, then bends down and picks up the gun Merle dropped; he empties the bullet from the chamber and pops the clip out. Walking up to Merle with heavy steps, he sticks the empty gun into Merle’s waistband and the clip into the pocket of his pants on his stump side. 

“There. You’re leaving with more than you came with. Don’t say I never did anything for you.” Daryl turns away, staring at the wall with such intensity Carol can’t watch, can’t bear to see the pain there.

Behind him Merle spreads his arms pleadingly. “Daryl, I, how can you do this, man?”

Daryl spins around, grabs Merle’s shoulder and slams him into the wall. “I don’t want to! All I wanted – I’ll I’ve ever goddamn wanted – was for you to be here! I don’t want you out there; I don’t want you dead. But these’re my people, now. And you can’t pull your head up out of your ass to treat them right. So go. And don’t come back.” Daryl lets go of his brother and turns away. He rubs violently at his face, but whether it’s to wipe away sweat or tears, Carol can’t tell.

“Uh, what’s going on?” 

Everyone pauses, turning to the doorway. Glenn’s standing there, staring wide-eyed. Daryl points at him without looking. “You. Take Maggie. The two of you, take Merle outside and let him out. He’s leaving.” Daryl heads for the stairs, not looking back.

“Uh, okay, but when’s he coming back, ‘cause the guard rota –”

“He’s not,” says Daryl, and disappears up the stairs.

For a minute, they all stare at each other, at the stairs, at Merle. Finally, Merle pushes away from the wall. Maggie turns her gun on him, glaring. He gives her a tired, disgusted look, and marches towards the door that leads out into the yard. He leaves without saying a word.

  
***

Carol climbs the stairs to find Daryl sitting at the very far end of the balcony, almost above the cellblock entrance. His knees are pulled up high, a frayed rip stretched wide over the left one. Carol promised to mend them months ago but he turned her down, said he’d do it himself if it bothered him. He’s picking at the threads, but his eyes are focused for distance.

She walks over slowly and sits down beside him, echoing his posture. This close, she can feel him trembling as he draws in breath, shuddering silently. 

In the distance there’s a shot and she flinches, feels him stiffen beside her. Then there’s another, and another. Then silence. At the second shot, Daryl relaxes. “He’s fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“That close, none of them’d need more than one shot. They’re taking down walkers to let him get away.”

They sit in silence for a while. Daryl’s breathing grows easier, steadier, and he stops picking at the rip in his jeans. Carol shifts slowly beside him, moving just close enough that her arm is against his; she knows not to push it. 

“I knew it wouldn’t work,” he says, eventually, not looking at her. “Merle – he just ain’t made that way. ‘S always been like that, always will be. I just… couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t. You know?”

“I know,” she says. 

They stay there, sitting together in silence, until it’s time for lights out.

END


End file.
